


A Bullet in the Back

by banquos_ghost



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8120044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banquos_ghost/pseuds/banquos_ghost
Summary: MacCready's clients need his protection, that's why they hire him in the first place.  This time, it's MacCready that's going to need protection.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deichqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deichqueen/gifts).



> Wade Russell is [ @deichqueen](http://deichqueen.tumblr.com) 's sole survivor, who she has very generously let me use in this fic as well as offering advice and kicking my ass.  
> Written for [ @likegoodangels](http://likegoodangels.tumblr.com) 's September 2016 Picture Prompt Challenge on tumblr (pic here [ Fallout Fanfic Prompts.)](http://likegoodangels.tumblr.com/post/150498453842/fallout-fanfic-prompt)

_How do I know I won't end up with a bullet in my back?_

Mere words at the time. Something that he always said to new clients. Just part of the sales patter. He'd never really listened to the answer, if the client bothered with an answer. Chances are, if they were prepared to shell out 250 caps they weren't going be harming the very person they'd paid to protect them. And of course, if they had been planning harm they were hardly going to turn round and say 'Oh yes MacCready, now you mention it I do have a bit of an urge to shoot you while you sleep. So maybe we won't bother with this arrangement after all...'

Ludicrous question, ludicrous answer. Just part of his usual routine. Charm the new clients. Act the part. No one had highlighted how stupid the question was, because it was expected, the back and forth of negotiation. It always came down to the bottom line in the end. Always. Getting them to part with their cash, and exactly how much of that cash they were prepared to part with. The bargaining. How he hated the haggling. 

The first client who had made that question relevant was Wade Russell. When Russell had pitched up in the Third Rail looking to do a deal MacCready asked the question and _meant it_. Russell had just glared at him in reply. That should have told MacCready all he needed to know. The scars on Russell's face spoke of battles of the 'if-you-think-this-is-bad-you-should-see-the-other-guy' variety, while the expressionless blue eyes made the hairs prickle on the back of MacCready's neck. His intuition told him that this man had no need to hire a mercenary to protect him. Maybe MacCready was in for an easy ride hooking up with Russell, that is if no shot to the back was forthcoming. He could certainly use the break, with just a few caps remaining in his pockets and the Gunners sniffing around he wasn't in a position to pick and choose. He'd just have to make sure he slept with one eye open and his rifle close at hand. Not really any different from usual. 

Russell was by a nature a man of very few words and that had suited MacCready just fine. If he'd wanted to waste the days making small talk he'd have set up shop in the public bar of the Third Rail not the deserted VIP room. Russell was not the confiding type, though it was obvious to MacCready something weighed heavy on him. Well, snap, and MacCready appreciated the two-way street of Russell's reticence. No silly questions. Despite Russell's overall dour demeanour he managed to find his _consolations_. Usually of the feminine kind.

MacCready had thought that first night bunking down in Piper's house at Diamond City would never end. Russell and Piper's noisy lovemaking had been enough to wake the dead. Piper had packed Nat off to a friend's house, obviously knowing there would be a busy night ahead. MacCready was buggered if he was going to spend 10 caps at the Dugout Inn for a room when there was a couch at Piper's house going free. Worst decision of his life. He had been left literally like a spare prick, pillow rammed over his head in a futile attempt to block the annoying, _arousing_ , noises of Russell and Piper going at it hammer and tongs all night. 

The next morning MacCready was a little in awe of Russell's energy and ebullience. That man had the constitution as well as the build of a yao guai. Piper looked how MacCready felt, utterly exhausted. But at least Piper had a post-coital glow going on. He wished he could say the same about himself. And so it continued as it had started, MacCready second fiddle to Russell. Yeah, he had admired the asshole back then, in the early days. Before shit got sour. 

The business arrangement was good. The best. More like equals. MacCready was used to lily-livered rich assholes needing him to escort them. Russell could handle himself. Had saved MacCready too on occasion. And the caps? Oh man, the caps just fucking flowed. Give Russell his due he shared the spoils pretty evenly. It was strictly understood that for any _extracurricular_ activity Russell had first dibs. Fine by MacCready. He was in it for the caps, anything else a distraction. Sure, if it was offered on a platter then he'd be a fool not to avail himself, if only to save on board and lodge. Not that it happened often. For him at least. Russell seemed to have them dropping their panties for him in every settlement. With those looks and that body it was not really surprising. Heck even MacCready could see the charisma of the man. 

 

They had travelled for many months together companionably enough. They had a few laughs, a few beers. The fly in the ointment was Russell's brutality. Always latent below the surface was a kind of tempered cruelty, a mean streak. The quality of mercy wasn't so much strained as non-existent in this guy. MacCready was no wide eyed innocent, Christ he'd run with the Gunners and all that entailed (he really didn't want to think about that right now) but Russell was something else entirely. Still it wasn't up to him to judge his boss. MacCready counted himself lucky to be on the right side of him. Russell got a little boisterous when drunk. A bit too physically argumentative. A bit pushy. Played to the gallery or his latest floozy, MacCready usually ended up as the hapless butt of his jokes. Nothing he hadn't heard a million times before, yeah he was skinny, bad teeth, tight with money, yada yada. He wouldn't have survived 5 minutes with a thin skin in Little Lamplight let alone been the Mayor for so long, but Russell went above and beyond to humiliate him. MacCready tried to shrug it off, what did he care? Russell was just a client and the jobs kept coming. When Russell was sober he was a decent enough guy to knock about with. MacCready wasn't paid for his opinion or moral rectitude. As long as the caps kept flowing and MacCready's personal line (which was extremely flexible it had to be said) wasn't crossed then everything was cool.

That was before the fated road trip. If only they could rewind, go back to those early days. They'd worked together a few months, parted on friendly terms. Russell had helped him deal with the Gunners and get Duncan's cure. By the time Russell had left MacCready was awash with caps, plenty of options open to him and Duncan on the mend. 

Months went past and MacCready started to forget about Russell, gave up hoping that he would come back and resume their lucrative partnership. He heard on the grapevine that Russell was entangled with the Brotherhood of Steel. Well, heaven help the Brotherhood... Seriously though, Russell was the type to thrive in that sort of bullshit quasi-military regime. As long as he was the one giving the orders not taking them that is. 

One day Russell had turned up in Goodneighbor again, found MacCready between clients, suggested a little road trip for old times' sake. MacCready had readily agreed, he could do with some downtime and if he was honest he was a little flattered at the attention from the older man. He hadn't really thought Russell would ever be back, bigger fish to fry and all that. 

They found a safe spot to camp for the night and built a fire. With just the two of them and no audience to play to or persona to project Russell was almost back to his old charming self. The way he would be sometimes when he was utterly relaxed. Voluble and charismatic. To the untrained eye they were just two guys enjoying each other's company. But MacCready could tell from the get-go something wasn't quite right, he'd travelled with Russell long enough to be able to read the signs. Russell would break off mid-sentence. Checking himself for letting go and enjoying the moment. A glimpse of conflicted emotions behind those blue eyes and then the shutters would descend and the eyes become as blank as a lizard's. Russell didn't like to show any weakness, never had. MacCready had penetrated that armoured exterior a couple of times on nights like this when they had worked together, under the stars when they had both been intoxicated enough to share their problems. Talk of their families and other taboo subjects. The next day had always been somewhat strained between them, as if Russell had regretted the disclosure.

Despite Russell's reticence the road trip had started on a high note, their past awkward moments forgotten. The beer flowed, the whiskey flowed. Chucking shit onto the fire just to watch it burn. Laughing as stuff randomly exploded and dodging flying debris. As the night wore on Russell's hard man facade had started to crack and crumble, revealing facets of the vulnerable man beneath. He spoke at length about his life, his struggles since he had last been out on the road with MacCready. There may have been tears. From both of them. MacCready's recollections were hazy. From the drink and the aftermath. 

 

At some point as dawn was starting to streak strangled foggy light across the land Russell had become agitated. MacCready had said something about his life in Goodneighbor. A throw away silly remark but it seemed to annoy Russell. Nothing new there, but Russell's reaction had been unexpected, his eyes had glinted dangerously in the firelight. Suddenly he was a stranger to MacCready. A big scary motherfucker with a murderous glint in his eye. MacCready had shuffled nervously wondering what Russ was going to do. His hollow laugh more unnerving than his anger. There was nothing remotely funny going on here.

'What did you say _MacNeedy?_ ' Russell's taunt a low guttural growl. 'You skinny little runt, you have no idea. Just go back to the Capital Wasteland for fuck's sake. Your son needs you. Go while you've got the chance instead of pissing your life away in Goodneighbor.' 

His jibe hurt, it hurt fucking bad, but nowhere near as bad as Russell's arm locked round his neck in a half-Nelson. MacCready had wriggled and writhed, but couldn't get free of the larger man's grip. Russell dominated MacCready his breath coming in harsh rasps, every nerve in MacCready's body alert to the danger and proximity of this brute. He'd joked (or tried to, not so easy to appear flippant when your breath is being squeezed from your body) he'd begged. Russell seemed to love the begging part, had relished the moment, sitting back leaning on a rock as he took his ease while maintaining steady pressure on MacCready's windpipe. MacCready abandoned his pride and continued to beg. Anything to get him to release his hold. Eventually Russ had enough of MacCready's begging, relaxed his arm and sent MacCready sprawling on the dirt. 

MacCready lay prostrate on the ground as he recovered his equilibrium. He was through with Russell’s shit. Why the hell should he have to put up with his whims and bullying? He felt his own anger start to bite, and eyed Russell with a belligerent stare. Russell was crouched over him and was that _concern_ on his face? Too fucking late. MacCready pulled Russell’s leg, brought him tumbling on to the floor next to him. They both lay in the dirt panting and eyeing each other with distrust. MacCready grappled with Russell, not even knowing what exactly it was he was trying to achieve. He had the unsettling sensation that Russell was holding back, almost laughing at his attempts to brawl with him. It was more handbags at dawn than a serious fight. MacCready tried to pin Russell to the ground, sitting astride him and holding his arms down. Russell broke free and grabbed MacCready by the wrists. MacCready stared Russell in the eye, spat in the man’s face. Regretted it instantly. His stomach had lurched and waves of nausea passed over him as he realised Russell was no longer fucking about. MacCready had broken free, staggered to his feet unsteadily and ran and ran with no clue where he was going. Just wanting to escape. The tree stump had been his undoing, he didn't see it coming, fell flat out on the ground as Russell rained blows on him. Passed out. Woke up to find himself dumped in Goodneighbor with Daisy fussing. Which brought him to the here and now. Bruised and recovering. No explanation. No closure. 

He was feeling better but his pride still hurt like hell. He sat outside Daisy's shop clad only in some old trousers she had dug out from somewhere. His own clothes still bearing the evidence of his humiliation. Daisy had washed them for him as best she could and they were strung out drying on a washing line, fresh blood stains still there for the whole world to see. They would fade, they always did eventually or got covered by new ones. Someone else's usually. Experience told him the bruises on his bare torso and the purpled, swollen eyes would return to normal soon. 

Daisy had clucked round him like a mother hen,dressed his wounds. Administered stimpaks. Not entirely unwelcome. At least there was some fucker left on this planet that cared about him. She'd smoothed his matted hair down, his scalp still sore and tingling from the shower water on the fresh wounds. That had stung like hell. He put a hand to his head, probing the abrasions and assessing the damage. His hair felt strange, newly short and bristly after Daisy had hacked it off. The dried blood and dirt matted in it had been too painful to tease out. She had given him (on the house! He must have been in a bad way) a few bottles of Gwinett ale. So here he sat, back in Goodneighbor supping his ale and staring into space. A little more jaded, a little less trust in those blue eyes and more frown lines to add to the collection. He'd survive. He always had. Russell must have brought him here after he'd lost consciousness and he must have felt guilty too because MacCready's back pack held far more caps then he'd started out with. Russell's shitty way of apologising. It could have been worse. Whatever had triggered Russell's rage last night wasn't just going to go away. Wade Russell was a ticking time bomb in self-destruct mode and heaven help the next person that crossed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> **Any comments gratefully received***  
> My tumblr is : [thebanquosghost](http://thebanquosghost.tumblr.com/tagged/fanfic)  
> If you want to read more about Russell may I suggest this would be a good place to start, [Off Guard](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7487136) (NSFW) :)


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